


Wicked Games

by paintsplatteredteardrops



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Welcome to the Jungle, Punk!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintsplatteredteardrops/pseuds/paintsplatteredteardrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis thinks Harry would look really hot with tattoos. Harry doesn't really agree. Welcome to the Jungle-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

> I am honestly so fucking bad at naming things. The title has nothing to do with the fic, and the description sucks, I know. Oh well. I made this for you guys since WTTJ is on hiatus for the next little while and I didn't want to leave you all with nothing, so here's a light-hearted, cute little thing for you guys to enjoy. Feedback is lovely, as are all of you.

“So you’re telling me you would never, ever, not even in a million years, get a tattoo?” Louis asked, arm slung around Harry’s shoulders as they shared a joint, swinging on the new porch swing outside Harry’s house.

Harry giggled, his shoulders shaking with it, eyes squinting and dimples surfacing as he passed the joint back to Louis. Louis smiled at him teasingly as he placed it between his lips. “Do I really look like the type of person to get them?” He said, voice hoarse as he attempted to hold back a cough and failed.

“You’re implying that you have to be a certain type of person to get them, which is very untrue.” He sucked on the joint till it was nothing but a roach then threw it to the ground to extinguish it beneath his foot. “Anybody can get them, you know. You don’t have to be a big, bad punk like me,” he said, reaching down to retrieve the roach and stick it in his pocket.

Harry’s mum was chill, much more lenient and relaxed than most mums, but Louis still wasn’t sure if she even knew Harry had been smoking weed, so to save the kid the trouble of explaining, he reprehended all traces of evidence. Just doing the kid a favour, really. No big deal.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, “Do you think they’d suit me?”

“They suit everyone. Everyone looks better with tattoos.”

“Right,” Harry said with a scoff, “Of course you’d say that.”

“Just because I’m biased, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” Harry looked at him then, his plump red lips twisted to the side in consideration, his pale cheeks slightly flushed from the chill in the air, his shiny brown curls blowing across his forehead in the wind, and Louis found his heart rate increasing as his eyes befell the image. His attraction to Harry, to his red mouth and lean body and startlingly deep, rich voice, was something that couldn’t be denied, but looking at him like this, all flushed and delicately pretty and wrapped tightly in a scarf with a white beanie perched atop his hair, Louis also couldn’t really deny the kid was kind of fucking beautiful.

Louis stared at him as a string of windy silence passed between them, staring at Harry’s mouth and wanting to do nothing more than kiss him without needing to give any sort of explanation, and then Harry was smiling, the corners of his lips pulling upward as his teeth flashed white in Louis’ face. Louis met his eyes again, wide and trusting and green, and swallowed the surge of want and need that rose in his throat. That was definitely not a welcome feeling, nor one Louis was willing to acknowledge.

“What do you think I should get?” Harry grinned, shifting from under Louis’ arm and resting his chin in his palm. “Should I ever get a tattoo, that is.”

“Well,” Louis said, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette. He offered one to Harry, who waved his hand and shook his head negatively. Harry wasn’t much of a smoker; he did sometimes, when he was really stressed over a test, or horny and unable to do anything about it, and sometimes just because he felt like it. He’d told the lads as much when they asked him about Harry’s smoking, then proceeded to tease him for being so in-tune with Harry’s moods, which was absolutely unfair because Harry wore his emotions and thoughts on his face and sleeve, and Louis was no more privy to them than anyone else. “I think a skull right there,” he pointed to Harry’s bicep, “would look really badass.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t really consider myself badass, and come on, you’ve got two arms and a chest full of tattoos, and a skull is the best you can come up with? Pssh.” Harry waved his hand dismissively and gave a sassy flip of his hair, and fuck, it definitely did not turn Louis on when Harry got cheeky. Not at all.

“Who do you think you are?” Louis gasped with mock indignation. “I believe sarcasm is my thing, and I have the rightful claim to it, you little shit.” He poked Harry in the side, blowing smoke in his face and causing Harry to hide his face and cough.

“Yeah, but tattoos are also your thing and that’s not stopping you from trying to rub them off on me.”

Louis grinned filthily. He leaned over, nipping at Harry’s ear and whispering, “If I was really trying to rub them off on you we wouldn’t be wearing any clothes right now.” He gave his earlobe another gentle lick.

“Geroff,” Harry protested, shoving Louis away by the shoulders, but there was a twinkle in his eyes and a blush rising in his cheeks, indicating he was far from bothered by Louis’ playful teasing. Louis wasn’t deterred by Harry’s resistance, leaning back in and pressing teasing, light kisses to his jaw and neck, flicking his tongue out like a snake between each kiss, until Harry was gasping softly and digging his fingers into Louis’ shoulder blades. “Louis…” He breathed, fingers tightening their grip on Louis’ coat.

This, Louis could do. He could seduce Harry, kiss him all over, tease him with his tongue and make him come with a simple flick of his wrist, but that was all he could limit himself to. He tried not to let it bother him, the way Harry would whisper his name over and over, like if he kept saying it, it may start to mean something, and sometimes that made Louis feel guilty. Because Harry wasn’t hardened yet, hadn’t seen the world in the way Louis had. Even though Louis had made it clear he could never love him, Harry still maintained that hope, that maybe love did exist.

Louis didn’t want to be the one to tell him otherwise, but sometimes it felt like that was what things were coming to, with the way Harry smiled at him like he was the sun reflecting back at him and the way he clung to his arm sometimes like maybe he belonged to him. Louis didn’t want to be the one to break it to him, and even though he knew he would have to eventually, he knew he couldn’t do it, not yet, so he just kept kissing him. Kissing him like maybe one day he wouldn’t have to leave, even though they both knew, deep down, that was far from the truth.

“Know what I think?” Louis breathed against Harry’s lips, his hands reaching under Harry’s coat and dragging across his cold skin. He kissed him again, slow and deep, and when he pulled away, Harry’s lips were redder than cherries, bitten and chapped and glossy. He pressed their mouths together but applied no pressure, whispering as Harry opened his mouth and dropped his head against Louis’ cheek, “I think you’d look so fucking hot.”

Harry’s mouth fell slack against his as Louis pressed harder, and soon he was parting their lips with a smack, grinning at Louis with flushed cheeks and mischievous green eyes. God, Louis really was rubbing off on him, wasn’t he? “Really?” Louis nodded and leaned forward to suck at his neck again, but Harry pushed him back and shook his head. “Okay. Come with me.” His grin widened and he grabbed Louis by the hand, pulling him off the swing and dragging him inside.

It was always interesting, when Harry took control, because, to all the world, Harry appeared just your ordinary, naïve, inexperienced teenage boy with a heart too big and a smile too wide. But Harry wasn’t weak, far from it actually. He knew what he wanted, he went for it, and he didn’t cry when the outcome didn’t turn out how he expected or wanted it to. Louis wasn’t sure how big of a part he’d played in that becoming the case, nor did he want to, but he was glad it did, because Harry was turning out to be a pretty cool kid, one that Louis genuinely enjoyed spending time with, one who was constantly surprising him with his insight and somehow never failed to keep things exciting.

However, that didn’t have to mean anymore than it did; Louis liked Harry, as a friend, and he also liked shagging him. That was all it was to Louis; it had nothing to do with love or affection, nor did it make what they had a relationship. He always ignored the pang of guilt that flared in his stomach at the realization that Harry’s views were different, but found comfort in reminding himself that, well, he’d been clear about the boundaries from the beginning, and Harry had plenty of time to get used to them. That usually makes him feel better, no matter how temporarily.

They reach Harry’s room and Harry pushes a puzzled Louis to his bed with a giggle, shucking off his coat and marching over to his dresser. When he sat next to Louis, he handed him a Sharpie resolutely, smiling at him.

“What’s this for?”

Harry grinned and lifted his shirt over his head, flicking it to the side and lying down, his head reaching the end of the bed where Louis was situated. “Tattoo me.”

Louis gave a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to draw on you with permanent marker, is what you’re asking?” Harry nodded. “Hate to break it to you, mate, but the ink used for tattoos doesn’t wash off after a few showers.”

“I know.” Harry rolled his eyes and flicked Louis on the forehead. “Just gimme a little test run. See how it looks.”

Louis smiled down at him, scrubbing at his face to attempt to shield the fondness threatening to shine through his eyes. “I’m no artist, Harry.”

“No matter,” Harry said, reaching to pluck the lid off of the marker in Louis’ hand, “we’ll test out your mediocre skills and attempt to make them better using my body as a canvas.”

He ran his hands down his chest, smiling serenely up at Louis, his hands coming to rest on his round, soft stomach. Louis chuckled and rolled his eyes; Harry was ridiculous, his whole entire being was ridiculous, but, although Louis would never admit it, his smile was almost impossible to say no to, so Louis discarded his jacket and sat above Harry, taking in the long, lean line of him and trying his best not to get hard.

“No stiffies either,” Harry said cheekily. Louis gaped at him; sometimes he truly was in awe of the person Harry was becoming, so funny and self-assured and honestly, a bit bold and ballsy. These weren’t exactly unattractive qualities.

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Anything you want. Whatever you think suits me.”

He was at a bit of a loss, because truthfully, Harry was right. Tattoos didn’t really suit him, although they could if he chose the right one, and Louis wasn’t exactly sure what that was. He tapped the end of the pen against his chin, like he often did with his finger while thinking, and licked his lips, searching for options. His mind was coming up completely blank, filling with nothing but images of Harry’s naked body writhing beneath him, and against all of his will and restraint, the proximity was beginning to get him hard.

Harry noticed, because of course he did, his cock is right underneath Louis’, and grins up at him, resting his hands on Louis’ hips and licking his chapped pink lips. “Nothing?” He said. Louis shook his head. “Well,” Harry said slowly, dragging his fingers along Louis’ belt, “How ‘bout I give you a bit of…” He unfastened the buckle, his smile widening as he slowly pulled the belt from the loops and tossed it to the floor. “Inspiration?”

Louis gaped down at him again, because God, when was this kid going to stop surprising him? Harry’s grin widened, and he surged upward to peck Louis on the lips before sinking back down and making progress with the zipper of his jeans. Louis watched him as he pulled his boxers down till they sank atop the jeans resting under Louis’ arse, and suddenly Harry had one hand on his dick and the other on the small of his back, and Louis’ fist clenched around the Sharpie.

The movements were slow to begin with, methodical, careful not to create too much friction against the dry skin, the pre-come leaking from Louis’ dick acting as lube. The angle was slightly awkward, Harry’s wrist twisting as he pumped his hand up and down, Louis’ hips grinding down against his. Louis shifted slightly as he felt Harry getting hard beneath him, shifted so he was sitting on Harry’s thighs. He clumsily undid the zipper of Harry’s own jeans, breathing heavily as he slid his hand beneath Harry’s back so he could lift him slightly and slide them, along with his boxers, down to his knees. Harry gasped as Louis’ cold hand wrapped around his cock, his grip going slack for a moment at the contact then picking up pace along with Louis.

They jerked each other off, messy and frantic, their cocks close together but never touching, until Louis was coming all over Harry’s soft stomach, Harry joining him a few seconds later as Louis’ fist clenched around him during his orgasm. Louis collapsed on top of Harry, the hand that wasn’t jerking Harry off still wrapped tight around the Sharpie. Harry laughed as their chests slipped against each other slightly due to the shared spunk, liquid and sticky between them, and wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist to steady him.

“So,” Harry said after they’d caught their breath, “did my method of inspiration work then?” Louis looked up at him, utterly wrecked and spent, and Harry grinned in satisfaction, lifting his arms and resting them underneath his head smugly.

Louis couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at the kid’s smugness, because he really was fucking amazing with his hands. But it was his eyes that struck Louis, so genuine despite his sarcasm, so bright and glassy and shiny and full of selfless affection that Louis had seldom witnessed in anyone, especially toward him, and he found his body pushing itself up against his will, moving to sit on Harry’s chest, totally ignorant to the fact that his pants would most likely be glued to Harry by the time he was done, and lifting the hand containing the Sharpie.

He bent over the first area of skin his eyes came into contact with, the inside of Harry’s exposed, right bicep, and began to draw. He drew five points, connecting them all by creating thick black lines, forming the shape of a star. The lines were slightly wobbly, as Louis was just coming down from an orgasm, and he was distracted by the way Harry’s curls tickled his face as he bent his head down to inspect Louis’ work. But it was passable, considering Louis’ rather dreadful artistic skills.

Harry didn’t say anything until Louis lifted himself, his arse getting briefly stuck to Harry’s chest, as he predicted, and rolled himself off of him to lie next to him. He inspected the drawing, a smile slowly spreading across his features before settling into confusion. He looked over at Louis, his cheeks still flushed, and Louis doesn’t want to hear what he has to say about it, just wants to kiss him and kiss until his entire body is red and his lips are the colour of the darkest red wine.

“A star?” Harry asked. “What’d you draw a star for?”

If Louis was a cheesy bloke, or required extra effort to get into Harry’s pants, he’d have told the kid that he was a star, that he’d drawn him a star because he was bright and shiny and big and blinding and lit up even the darkest of nights. But Louis wasn’t that guy, would never, ever be that guy, so he went with the first dirty comment that popped into his head.

“Haven’t I ever told you?” Louis said, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You’re an absolute star with those hands of yours.”

It wasn’t Louis’ best quip, or his best innuendo, or even his best segue way, really, but it was worth it for the way Harry’s eyes lit up and his mouth widened in a boisterous laugh, and the way he rolled onto Louis and kissed the smirk from his lips, chasing away the naughty words with his tongue.

“So,” Harry said, his arms around Louis’ neck while he pulled back from the kiss, “what’s next then? Tongue piercing?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, curly,” Louis scolded, “no need to get ahead of yourself. You’ve got a tattoo now, that’ll last you for the extremely long forever that is 2 days, you don’t want to overdo it and change your whole entire look in one day.”

“Another time then?” Harry said seriously, but his eyes were teasing and joking.

“Sure, of course. Right after you get ‘cocksucker’ tattooed right on top of your arse.”

“Can’t wait,” Harry said, and leaned down to capture Louis’ lips in a smiling kiss.

 _Yeah_ , Louis thought. _Can’t wait._


End file.
